Please Don't Leave Me
by persephoneia
Summary: Draco Malfoy ponders his life, its meaning, its significance. He longs to escape the darkness that has surrounded him, leaving no hopes for flight whatsoever... Or so he thought, up until that night...


**Please Don't Leave Me**

By E. Caddy Compson (_persephoneia_)

**Summary**

Draco Malfoy ponders his life, its meaning, its significance. He longs to escape the darkness

that has surrounded him, leaving no hopes for flight whatsoever... Or so he thought, up

until that night... AU following certain events from subsequent books.

**Disclaimer**

I don't own anything except the plot... So basically, the storyline is mine, the characters

are J.K. Rowling's; I've just borrowed them for a bit. This is canon books I - V.

Please Read and Review, and as always thanks for your time.

_Early Fall, 1997_

A single candle burned on a spectacular desk of oak, upon which a scroll of

parchment was laid out. The darkness in the room was pierced solely by the light of this

candle, its glow seemingly invading the shadows of the elaborately decorated room.

There was a deafening silence, broken only by the scratching of quill-on-parchment,

which occasionally paused as the writer dipped the eagle-quill into the jade ink with which

he wrote.

Upon the walls one could observe deep window hangings, and the wallpaper, which

had a splendid pattern of varying shades of green. There was a pause in the scratching

noise, a momentary ceasing in the creation of long, looping letters, mere patterns of circles,

oblong shapes, twisting lines, with spaces between, taking on a significance unlike anything

the young man had ever professed.

A large four poster bed graced the side of the room opposite the desk at which the

young man was seated, hangings of deep emerald contrasting nicely against the oak that

nearly all the furniture items in the room were made of.

There was a bureau positioned against an adjacent wall, and a full length mirror,

near the door that led to his private bathroom. To the left, there was another door, one

that lead to the Heads' common room, the large study he shared with the Head Girl.

Yes, he was Head Boy, captain of his House Quidditch team, second in his class only

to a girl who seemed to live for school. He had dashing good looks, and a felicitous wit. He

came from a prominent family, had a powerful name, and a great number of people who

would eagerly do his bidding should he so ask. But something was missing.

_Tap, tap, tap._ He tapped his foot on the floor, noise resounding across the room,

collisions of finely made, imported shoes, against the solid stone that was the flooring.

_Stone.__ Cold. Icy. Hard._ So like what he was taught to feel. Feelings were for the

weak. The weak minded. The strong didn't feel petty emotions. Didn't succumb to the

mortal things that were feelings and sentiments. Didn't have attachments. And the strong

survived.

The young man exhaled, and put down the quill he had been writing with, to run his

left hand through his locks of platinum blond. The writing was finished. His name was

signed. He glanced at the door that led to the commons, seeing from under it the fleeting

rays of soft light that radiated from the fireplace there, the few that dared enter his own

domain of darkness. No doubt the Head Girl would be there, in their common room,

reading by the fire, if she'd not snuck away to the library.

_It plagued him so._

Why was his life what it was? What was his life?

_Empty. Void. Blank. Hollow. A sweeping downward spiral of darkness._

_Regret._ Did he regret any of it? What was there to regret?

Yes, he regretted a great many things. He regretted the feeling of insignificance he

often succumbed to. He regretted the lonely childhood he'd endured, but was powerless to

change. He regretted not being able to defend his mother, against the constant belittlings

and occasional beatings his father would force her to endure. He regretted idolizing the

man that had made his life a living hell, in an attempt to make him a miniature copy of

himself.

He regretted being a constant disappointment. He regretted never exceeding

expectations, always falling short of what was expected of him. He regretted not being a

better player at Quidditch. He regretted not being the top of his class.

He regretted ever having considered becoming a Death Eater. He regretted the day

the Dark Mark had been emblazoned upon his arm. He regretted never having stood up for

what he believed in.

He regretted the arrogance he often exhibited towards others. He regretted his

ignorance, his lack of knowledge in things that should have been instilled early on.

He regretted his lack of courage. He regretted his inability to cope with things. He

regretted his inability to show his feelings. He regretted not being able to trust anyone, not

being able to open up to the person he felt the strongest towards. He regretted not being

able to express his love. He regretted so many things.

The young man sighed, audibly. Reaching for a pewter knob to his left, he opened

an oak drawer and pulled out a small bundle of cloth. He held the bundle in both hands,

unwrapping it gingerly. And the object fell from the bundle, as he nearly leaped from his

seat.

_Snap._ A book closed loudly in the room next to his. The Head Girl would be done

reading then. That was all. _No one to bother him now.__ No one to care._

He returned his eyes to the bundle before him, tossing it aside, to view the object it

had swathed just moments before. He picked it up with his left hand.

_Glimmering.__ Shining. Shimmering. Glistening._ Reflecting the light, in a manner

much like that of a mirror, a small strip of metal, balanced between his thumb and

forefinger, a minute ribbon of sharpness, able to cut the life out of someone, if one should

so choose to employ it in such a manner.

It fascinated him. _What would life be like without me? Would anyone care if I put _

_this__ blade to my skin and took the life that is mine own? Would anyone hear me scream? _

_Would anyone care if the life slowly seeped out of me, and I slipped into the oblivion that is _

_nothingness__ and death? Why? Why would they?_

A few swift movements. Drops of crimson spilled onto the parchment, previously

only graced by jade. First one, then two, three, four. Then a slow, steady stream.

Pain. There was pain, at first. Then it became a dull tingling. How strange. He felt

nothing now.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._ "Malfoy?" The Head Girl. What was she doing. She never

disturbed him this late. "Malfoy? I need to see you." There was a pause.

"Malfoy? Are you alright?"

"Gran—" he didn't have the strength to speak.

"Malfoy, this isn't funny. I know you're awake. There's no snoring coming from your

room. I'm not stupid, you know."

Another pause.

"_Alohomora__!"_

The Head Girl burst through the doors, and her eyes widened in horror. Moisture in

her eyes. Cracking in her voice, as she ran to his side.

"Oh my God, Malfoy!" she took the strip of metal from his hands, and flung it to the

other side of the room.

"What have you done?" she asked. There was something in her voice. Anguish?

He looked at her. Her gaze met his. Honey brown collided with steely gray. Red

with green. Light with dark. Mudblood with pureblood. Gryffindor with Slytherin. Two

worlds collided at that moment.

And she understood.

"This way... it'll be... easier for... everybody," he slurred.

"No, no. Malfoy, don't talk like that. Please," she pleaded, holding him close to her.

"Hermione," he whispered, "at least... I got... one thing... that I wanted."

Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I got... to be... in your arms... just once."

"No, please," she cried, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, voice quavering,

chest heaving, all over shaking. "_Please don't leave me, Draco_."

**Author's Note**

Well, it's done – for now. If you think I should continue, all suggestions are

appreciated... Please let me know.

Please Read and Review, and thanks for your time,

E. Caddy Compson


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